The Port of Adventure by Charles Norris Williamson and Alice Muriel Williamson

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Nick was not sure whether to take this as an excuse or a stab. He was sureof but one thing. Something hideous had come between him and his angel,while he slept and dreamed of her; and nothing would ever be the sameagain. Of course it must be his fault; and if he were used to women hewould perhaps see what he had done that a woman would disapprove. Orperhaps, even so, he would be in the dark, for there were all the otherwomen in the world, and there was Angela May. She was a law unto herself.It looked just now as if she were a hard and cruel law, but she must notbe blamed. She had a right to break with him. She had promised nothing.

"I think," said Nick, when he had learned that the McCloud was to be"hitched" to a train, in the afternoon, "I'd better be getting on. I mightas well say good-bye to you all now." When he shook hands with Mrs. May,Falconer and Sonia Dobieski turned aside a little, speaking to each other."I hope you understand, Mr. Hilliard, and don't think I'm being rude afterall your kindness," Angela said, melting a little; "I could hardly refusethem, when it was a question of chaperoning a newly engaged couple; and Ithought you would join us, of course."

This concession gave Nick an unexpected chance. He dared to hope that itwas an olive branch held out. "Did you really think that?" he askedquickly, in a low voice.

"Certainly. Why not?"

"Oh, I don't know! That's the trouble. But--if you did think it, maybeyou'll let me see you again--maybe this won't be good-bye for always?"

"Dear me, I hope not, indeed!" she answered in a light, frivolous toneagain. "We're sure to meet. You come to San Francisco sometimes I've heardyou say. I shall be there--oh, ages."

"You'll let me call?" Nick was faintly--very faintly--encouraged, not tohope for much, but for a very little; for a chance to retrieve some of theground he had lost in a night; to begin low down, and work up.

"I shall be glad to see you at the Fairmont Hotel, when I get there." Shewas almost too frankly cordial suddenly. The tone would have been perfectif the words had been spoken in New Orleans, before a thousand things hadhappened. But they had passed that stage now--for good or ill.

Then they finished shaking hands, and a few minutes later Nick left herwith Falconer and Sonia Dobieski. The instant he had gone, Angela wouldhave given a good deal to call him back, although she was sure she haddone only her duty to herself and him.

Her reasons for the great change were not mysterious at all. They werevery clear, and seemed to her very virtuous, very praiseworthy--up to thelast minute. Then she thought that she was a prig, and a wretch, andseveral other things which she would have been furious to be thought byanybody else. She had wanted Nick to realize--that is, she had felt it herduty to make him realize--that things could not go on as they were, afterlast night. She had been incredibly silly in the Mission church. All nightlong she had scolded herself for the way she had "behaved" and let the"forest creature" behave--holding her hand, and sitting as close to her onthe gallery stairs as if they were engaged in a desperate ballroomflirtation. She must show him that she was not really a stupid,sentimental person. She made up her mind that they must begin all overagain, the very first thing in the morning; and, true to her resolution,she had, indeed, begun all over again. She had torn a hole in the netwhich was binding them together--all through her own silly fault!

In her heart, she had wanted him to accept Falconer's invitation; but shehad not wanted him to know that she had wanted him. The thing was to givethe impression that she would be pleased if he went, and not miserable ifhe refused. If they all went to Monterey together on Mr. Falconer'sprivate car, they would not be losing each other--as friends; they wouldmerely be adjusting their relations, which, owning to San Miguel, hadsuddenly got dangerously out of hand.

It was only when Nick's back was turned, and he was going, that she sawthings from his point of view. Why had she not been clever enough to keepto the happy medium and not make him think that he had done somethingdreadfully wrong--that on second thoughts she was blaming him for lastnight, and punishing him? Surely she might have managed better--she awoman of the world, and he a mere "forest creature"?

But it was too late. The thing was done, and badly done. Angela sawherself a worm, and Nick noble as a tall pine-tree of the mountains.Still, it was best that the break should have come, one way or another.

"Why on earth should I care?" she asked herself angrily. '"We could nevergo on having a real friendship, all our lives--I and a man like that. He'sa splendid fellow--of course, above me in lots of ways; but we're ofdifferent worlds. I don't see how anything could change that. What a pityit all is--not for my sake, but for his!" And she thought how awkward hisfit of shy self-consciousness had made him appear in contrast with acultured man, a cosmopolitan like Falconer. It was she who had made himself-conscious. She knew that. But there was the fact. Falconer was a manof her world. Nick Hilliard was not. It was sad that Nick, with his goodlooks and intelligence and fine qualities, could not have had advantageswhen a boy--could not have gone to a university or at least associatedwith gentlefolk as their equal--which he was in heart. But now he had gotthose slipshod ways of speaking he could never change. And there were athousand other things which put him outside the pale of the men she knew.She would not listen when a sarcastic voice within defended Nick,sneering, "Oh, yes, Prince Paolo di Sereno and some of his friends are_far_ superior to Mr. Hilliard, aren't they?"

Irritated because the "forest creature" had become of paramount importancein her life when he should remain the merest episode, she was surprisedand even horrified to find herself despairing because he had done whatshe forced him to do. She could have cried for what he must be thinking ofher. She wanted to go on seeing his faults, but in her changing mood shecould see only her own. "He is one of the noblest gentlemen in the world,"something inside her said. "You aren't worthy to black his boots!" Thenthe picture of herself blacking them--the shiny ones that were tootight--rose before her eyes, and she was afraid that she was going tolaugh--or else to sob. Anyhow, he was gone, and there was an end of itall!

But when afternoon came, things were different again. In Falconer'sprivate car, where she, Princess di Sereno, was the chaperon, and SoniaDobieski was queen, Angela was so desperately homesick for Nick Hilliardthat she did not see how she could get on without his--friendship. "Afterall," she reminded herself, excusing her inconsistency, "_I_ didn't sendhim away. He went of his own accord. He might be here now. He refused tocome with us. It's only that we oughtn't to be rushing about together anymore in that absurd way. It won't do. Things keep happening--unexpectedthings--like last night. Still if he comes to San Francisco--if he asksagain to 'show me the sights' I don't see why I shouldn't say yes--just toso small a favour--and to make up--in case his feelings are hurt."

In her heart she knew that his feelings were hurt. But had she not hurther own?

There was a piano in the drawing-room part of the car. Sonia was singingto Falconer. They had forgotten Mrs. May, without whose martyred presencethey could not have had this happiness. The soul of the Russian girlseemed to pour out with her voice, as upon a tide. The sorrow and pain ofher past exile were in it at first: then it rose to the joy of new life ina new world. The sweetness of the voice and all that it meant of loveafter anguish stabbed Angela as she listened in the distance, like a knifedipped in honey.

XVII

SEVENTEEN-MILE DRIVE

Things were better at Del Monte. Mrs. Harland was there, and made adelightful hostess. It rather amused Angela to watch Theo Dene with SoniaDobieski, and to see how delightful Falconer's sister was to both. Butsomehow she contrived that Miss Dene should not be of the motoring partyfor the Seventeen-Mile Drive. A young officer from the Presidio wasproduced, to compensate as far as could be for her frankly lamented"failure"; and Theo resigned herself to a second-best flirtation. It wasconsoling to think that Falconer had been in love with the Dobieski longbefore he saw her: and Theo could almost forgive the Russian, whom sheconsidered plain and gawky compared to herself. She could not, however,forgive "Mrs. May" for having come into the party, and for being liked bythe host better than she was liked. Judging another woman by herself, shethought that, out of revenge for one or two little things (such as thetalk about Mrs. Gaylor and Nick Hilliard), Angela was trying to "takeaway" her California friends. If Theo had considered it worth while, shewould have broken her word, and told who "Mrs. May" really was; but thatwould be worse than useless, as it would only make Angela seem of moreimportance than at present. However, on hearing that Mrs. May mightdecide to "run up to Shasta and the McCloud River," she promised herself acertain amount of fun. She had reminded Mrs. Harland so often aboutwriting to Mrs. Gaylor, that at last the letter had been sent. The ladywho was supposed to have a claim upon Nick Hilliard was asked to visitRushing River Camp, as Falconer's place was called; and a telegram hadbeen dispatched by Falconer himself to Hilliard at the St. Francis Hotelin San Francisco, whither he was bound. If they all came--yes, Theo wouldhave her fun.

She thought of this, as she flirted with the officer from the Presidio,and promised to make him the hero of her next book. But the party inFalconer's motor thought of her not at all.

Angela was enchanted with the peninsula of Monterey. In the dark arbour ofthe cedar forest Falconer kept ordering the chauffeur of a hired car toslow down, or stop. The practically minded young man believed that thisgreat gentleman and the three ladies must be slightly mad. It was so queerto stop a car when she was going well just to stare around and talk poetryabout a lot of trees.

One of the ladies, the prettiest and youngest, with yellow hair under hergray motor-bonnet, said they weren't trees but people--either nymphs orwitches--and the rest of the party humoured her, talking nonsense aboutGreece and goddesses. He thought the pleasure of a motor trip was "goingsome"; but his passengers seemed to have other ideas. They were idiots, ofcourse, but they seemed mighty happy.

Angela, however, was less happy than the others, less happy than she triedto seem. She had a dim idea that, if she had come with Nick, she wouldhave thought this the most beautiful place on earth, and that she hadfound the ideal spot for a home. As it was, in spite of all theloveliness, she was not sure of herself, or what she wanted. This made herashamed. She was as self-conscious as Nick had been yesterday, and insheer panic fear lest "they" should think she was pining for Hilliard, orgrieving over some stupid quarrel, she said that she would certainly buyland in the forest. She must not lose such a chance. If for any reason sheshould change her mind, she could always sell, couldn't she? On this pointFalconer reassured her. "You can sell to me," he laughed in thelight-hearted way that surprised the chauffeur. "You build a house andfurnish it, and take all the trouble, and I'll buy it from you--to live inmyself when I want to imagine I'm in Greece or Sicily, as I do sometimeswhen I'm too busy to go there." And he looked at Sonia.

Though he laughed, he was in earnest, and Angela began to feel that shemight want to keep her house--if she built it. She saw herself walkingunder the strange dark trees to the gray rocks, to look at the seals. Nickwas with her.... She hurried to think of something else. Nick would not behere. They would have forgotten each other by the time her house wasbuilt. Perhaps he would be married to his Mrs. Gaylor.

[Illustration: "Angela was enchanted with the peninsula of Monterey"]

After all it did not seem so romantic to have a place where she could goand look at some seals, alone. Stupid! Because she had come to Californiaon purpose to have a place where she could be alone.

"How absurd women, are!" she thought, irritably. "As soon as we can havewhat we want, we don't want it. I suppose it must be that. Now I long forall kinds of new things I can't possibly have, which would be very bad forme if I could."

After lunching at the wonderful Club House built of logs, they went backby way of Monterey, and in the sleepy old town which holds more Californiahistory than any other they wandered about, "seeing the sights," one afteranother. They paid their respects to the monument of Father JuniperraSerra, who landed at Monterey with his soldiers a hundred and forty yearsago--a long time in America, where life moves quickly. Then, next ininterest, came the verandaed Custom House, built under Spanish rule, andlooking just the place to spend a lazy afternoon in gossiping about lovelyladies, and pretending to do important business for the Crown. There wasthe oldest Court-house in California, too, and the oldest brick house, andthe oldest frame building--"brought round the Horn"; the oldest theatre,glorified by Jenny Lind's singing; and, indeed, all the oldest old thingsto be found anywhere in history or romance. But, though Angela dared notsay so, she wondered what had become of the really old things, new in thebeginning of the seventeenth century when Don Sebastian Viscanio landed toname the town--in honour of Philip the Third--Monterey or "King of theMountains."

That night they all walked together under the great trees of the park atDel Monte. A lake (where black swans threaded their way like dark spiritsamong white water-lilies) drank the last light of day, and little wavesthe swans made were ruffled with dim silver. Above, the sky was anotherdeep blue lake lilied with stars; and as darkness fell, hot andsweet-scented as the veil of an Eastern woman, slowly the boundaries werelost between forest and garden. Outlines faded and blended into oneanother. The fuchsias, big as babies' fists, the poppies like dolls' crepesunbonnets, the roses large enough for nightingales' nests, lost theircolour, and seemed to go out in the dark, like brilliant bubbles thatbreak into nothingness. Here and there yellow light flashed near theground, far from the walkers, as if a faint firefly were astray in atangle of flowers. Chinese gardeners, deft and mysterious as brownies,were working at night to change the arrangement of flower-beds so that thedwellers in the hotel should have a surprise by day.

Theo Dene talked of Carmen Gaylor, telling stories she had heard of therich widow from people whose acquaintance she had first made at Del Monte."I am longing to meet the woman," she said; "I think she must be aninteresting character, typically Spanish, or Mexican--or, anyhow, notAmerican--from what they all say. A beauty--vain and jealous, and afearful temper. I shouldn't like to interfere with a woman of that sort inwhat she thought her 'rights,' should you?"

"One can't interfere with a person one has never met, can one?" Angelaremarked, pretending not to understand.

"Maybe not, in real life," Theo agreed. "I'm always losing myself in mybooks, and forgetting that the world outside isn't like _my_ world, madeof romance. But you can understand, can't you; here where it's sobeautiful that even a _married woman_--who has, of course, left love farbehind her in Europe--must feel some faint yearning to be the heroine of aromance?"

Princess di Sereno wondered why she had ever been nice to Theo in Rome.

XVIII

LA DONNA E MOBILE

Angela stood at her hotel window, looking down over the gilded hills andpurple valleys of the most romantic city in America--San Francisco, theport of adventure; away to the Golden Gate, where the sea poured in aflood of gold under a sea of rosy fog--a foaming, rushing sea of sunsetcloud, beneath a high dome of fire away to the fortified islands and toMount Tamalpais.

She had arrived only a few hours ago, after two days spent at Del Monte,and was waiting for Nick.

There had been a note sent up the day before, and she had not been in thehotel twenty minutes when he had telephoned. It had been good to hear hisvoice, so good that Angela had felt obliged to stiffen her resolution.Would she let him call? he asked; and she said: "Yes, come before dinner."Her impulse was to say, "Dine with me," but she would not. Instead, sheadded, "I dine at eight." It was now after seven, and she had dressed tobe ready for Nick. He might arrive at any minute. Angela's heart wasbeating quickly--but perhaps it was the glory of the sunset that made herblood run fast. She was listening for the bell of the telephone, yet whenthe sharp sound came it went through her nerves with the thrill of theunexpected.

"A gentleman, Mr. Hilliard, has called," announced the small impersonalvoice at the other end of the wire.

"Ask him to come up," Angela answered, feeling virtuously firm in herresolve that really had not weakened once in the last five days!

The pretty white room was full of rose-coloured twilight, so pink, itseemed, that if you closed your hand tightly you might find a little ballof crushed rose-petals there when you opened it. It would be a pity toshut out so much loveliness by switching on the electricity, so when Nickcame he found Angela, a tall, slim black figure, with a faint gold nimbusround its head, silhouetted against a background of flaming sky. Standingas she did with her back to the window, he could hardly see her face, butthe sunset streamed full into his as he crossed the room, holding out hishand.

His dark face and deep-lighted eyes looked almost unearthly to Angela seenin this wonderful light. No man could really be as handsome as he seemed!She must remember that he had never been so before, never would be again.It was only an effect. "It's like meeting him transformed, in anotherworld," was the thought that flashed through her head. And the immenseheight of this great house on a hill, the apparent distance from theveiled city beneath, with its starlike lights beginning to glitter throughclouds of shadow, all intensified the fancy. For an instant it was as ifthey two met alone together on a mountain-top, immeasurably high above thetired, struggling crowd of human things where once their place had been.

Strange what fantastic ideas jump into your mind! Angela was ashamed; andher embarrassment, mingling with admiration of Nick which must be hidden,chilled her greeting into commonplace. Yet she could hardly take her eyesfrom his good looks.

Nick had dressed himself for evening in some of those clothes bought inhaste, ready-made, to please a woman who had laughed at them and at him,during his abbreviated visit in New York. The woman did not laugh now. Sheforgot that she had ever laughed; and the thought was in her mind that thelarge white oval of evening shirt set off his head like a marble pedestal.

"How do you do?" she said, giving him her hand, and holding it ratherhigh, in the English way, which seemed excessively formal to Nick. "I'mglad to see you again."

Nick's heart went down. Her voice did not sound glad. This was just whathe had expected, though not what he had hoped. She had changed toward himthe day they parted, and though she had flung him a word of encouragement,evidently she had gone on changing more and more. There seemed little goodin asking what he had come to ask; but he had to get through with it now.

"I guess I don't need to tell you I'm glad to see you," he said. He lookedat that nimbus round her head, as she stood with her back to the window.He could say no more, though he had meant to add something.

"What are you thinking about?" she questioned him almost sharply.

Nick laughed, embarrassed. "I was thinking some words that sound likepoetry--or no, they were thinking themselves. Night in her eyes, morningin her hair! Because standing like you do, Mrs. May, a kind of goldpowder wreath seems to be floating around your head."

She laughed too. "You must have been reading poetry since I left you!"

"No, that came out of my head. But I've been thinking a whole lot. About agood many things--only most of them were about you, or came back to you ifthey didn't begin there. Don't you know how one idea can sort of runthrough all your thoughts?"

"I know," said Angela. Just so had the idea of him been running throughall her thoughts these last few days. "But," she added with an effort,"why should you have been thinking of me? We're such--_new_ friends."

"Of course not. And I'm grateful for a few of yours. Have you beenenjoying San Francisco? Do sit down. And would you mind putting on theelectricity?"

"Must I? It's beautiful like this."

"Very well. Leave it so."

She sat on a sofa, still with her back to the window, and Nick took achair facing the light.

"I've had a feeling on me of waiting," said Nick. "Just that. I haven'tgone around much, though this is the first time I've been in SanFrancisco, except for a day, since the city's grown up after the fire. Iwas waiting to see if you'd let me show you things, as you----"

"As I--what?" Angela asked, when he paused.

"I was going to say, as you partly promised. But that wouldn't be fair,because you didn't really promise anything."

If he had claimed a right, it would have been easy to say that it didn'texist, but he made things harder by claiming nothing. Still, she went on:"No, of course, I couldn't promise. As I'm situated now, it's difficult tomake plans. However, if you've really waited for me, it was kind, andthere's no reason why I shouldn't ask you to show me San Francisco.Already, even though I haven't gone about at all, except just 'taxying' upto the hotel, I can see it's wonderful. From this window, it's likelooking out on Rome, with all its hills--Rome transplanted to the sea. AndI know you, and don't know Mr. Morehouse, who's my only other resourcehere. Besides, he's a busy man; and if you're busy, you pretend not tobe."

"I'm having a vacation," Nick explained.

"All the nicer of you, spending some of it on me. But I mustn't let youspend too much. Besides, I have as little time as you have for runningabout the country. Everything has changed with me since I saw you last."

"I was afraid so!" Nick exclaimed, before he could stop to think.

"Only because I've bought land," Angela said hastily. "Some ofCalifornia--five acres on the peninsula of Monterey--is mine! I mustdecide on an architect. Isn't that exciting? Then, while he's working outour joint ideas, perhaps I'll make a visit to Mrs. Harland. I'm rathertired, and I believe it will do me good."

"I expect it will," said Nick bravely.

"Think of the journey I've had from Europe, and not a day's rest since,"went on Angela, with the air of excusing herself.

"It must have been mighty hard on you," Nick agreed. He flushed faintly,as if he deserved reproach for inconsiderateness.

"Not that I felt the need of rest till--till now," she hurried on. "It wasdelicious sailing along with your Bright Angel. When I'm at Rushing RiverCamp I shall think of her again, wondering who is spinning about with youin my place. For you'll often take your friends out when you're at home?"

It was on the tip of Nick's tongue to answer, "Bright Angel was bought foryou; named after you, and I can never bear to take anybody else, nowyou've finished with her--and me." But that, like claiming a promise halfmade, "wouldn't have been fair." If he hinted that the car had been gotfor her sake, she would be distressed. Some men in his place would havesaid--whether meaning it or not--"No other woman shall ever go with me inthat auto." And the wish to say this was in Nick's mind, but he knew thatit would be in bad taste. Besides, there was a woman who would want to tryhis car, and it would be unfriendly to deny her. So he said, "There _is_one friend I must take: Mrs. Gaylor. I've talked to you about her. She'llbe interested in Bright Angel when I get home."

"Yes; of course," replied Angela. It was extraordinary how much shedisliked the picture of Nick and a beautiful dark woman together in thecar where _her_ place had been by his side. Could it be that Theo Dene wasright? Was Nick's interest in her--Angela--less than, and different from,his interest in Mrs. Gaylor? She had no right to know, no right to want toknow, still less to try to find out. Yet she felt that not to know verysoon would make her lose sleep, and appetite, and interest in daily life.

Silence fell between them for a moment. The rose of sunset burned toashes-of-rose. A small clock on the mantelpiece mentioned in a discreetvoice that it was a quarter to eight. Nick got up, rather heavily for aman so lithe as he.

"Well, I must go," he said. "Thank you for letting me take, you around SanFrancisco. May I come to-morrow morning?"

"Oh, do. About half-past nine." She got up also, feeling miserable,though, as she pointed out to herself, for no real reason.

"I'll be prompt." He put out his hand, and she laid hers in it, looking upto his face with a smile which would not for the world have been wistful.Suddenly his fingers gripped hers convulsively.

"So it's all over!" he whispered.

"No, no; not all over," she contradicted him. "There's to-morrow."

"Yes, there's to-morrow," he echoed.

"I told you at first," and she tried to laugh, "that 'sufficient for theday was the trip thereof.' Nothing was to be planned ahead."

"It's all right, Mrs. May," Nick answered.. "I want to be glad you'regoing to have that McCloud River visit. And, of course, you've got yournew place to think of. No wonder you're sick of travelling and want tosettle down. It's all right, and there's to-morrow, as you say."

He shook her hand, moving it up and down mechanically, then dropped it,and turned to go. Another second and the door was opening. Then it wasshutting behind him. He had gone! And though he was coming to-morrow for alittle while, nothing would ever be as it had been between them. It wasnow, not to-morrow, that she was sending him definitely out of her life;and he understood.

Never had Angela thought so quickly. She trembled as she stood staring atthe shut door. Her cheeks burned, and a pulse beat in her throat, underthe string of pearls. She clasped and unclasped her hands, and they werevery cold.

"He _shan't_ go to that woman, and take her out in my place in the BrightAngel!" she said out aloud, and flew to the door.

"Mr. Hilliard!--Mr. Hilliard!" she called.

Everything seemed to depend--though this was nonsense!--on his not havinggot to the elevator. She stood in the doorway, waiting to see what wouldhappen, her blood pounding as if she had taken a really important step;which, of course, was not the case.

He had turned a corner of the corridor and was out of sight, but her voicereached him, and he came back.

"Was there something you forgot to tell me?" he asked. Perhaps she wasgoing to say that after all she would not go out to-morrow.

"No, not that I forgot--something I _want_ to say. Come in again."

She whisked the tail of her black chiffon dress back into the room. Hefollowed her, wondering and silently anxious.

"I've changed my mind," she said in a low voice. (There! He had known it.She was not going.)

"_Would_ you still care to be my 'trail guide' in the Yosemite Valley?"

"Would I care?" echoed Nick.

"Then we'll go. I'll give up the McCloud River. I'll telephone Mrs.Harland--she's in San Francisco till day after to-morrow. I'll find anexcuse--I haven't had time to think it out yet. But I don't care _what_happens, I won't change again! I'm going to the Yosemite if you'll takeme."

He looked at her searchingly. "Because you're kind-hearted, and afraidyou've hurt me----"

"No--no! _Because I want to go!_"

Women are strange, and hard to understand, when they are worth taking thetrouble to understand; and even then they cannot understand themselves.

XIX

THE CITY OF ROMANCE

Angela was ridiculously happy next morning. She had no regrets. Nick hadstayed to dinner after all, and they had made plans. There was nothing inthis, really, she reminded herself, laughing five times an hour; nothingat all. But it was about as wild and exciting as if--as if it were anelopement: to have given up everything she had almost decided upon, and tobe going to the Yosemite Valley--with Nick, whom she had intended gentlyto put in his place--at a distance from hers.

"There will never, never be anything in my life again like this," shesaid. "I've never lived. I've never done the things I wanted to do. Therewas always some one or something to keep me back. Now, for a week or afortnight, I shall live--live! nothing and no one shall keep me back." Sheknew how absolutely contradictory this was, after taking so much pains to"let the 'forest creature' down gently," and begin all over again. But shedid not care. Nothing mattered, except that she could not send him to Mrs.Gaylor. As gaily as she had embarked upon the "little adventure" at LosAngeles, did she now face the great one.

Nick, too, was violently happy, happier than he had ever been or supposedit possible to be. At Los Angeles he had hardly dared to hope foranything beyond the pleasure of having this woman by his side for a fewhours. Since then, his feelings had, as he expressed it to himself, beenrunning up and down, like a thermometer in changeable weather; but theyhad been "mostly down," and during the last few days had mounted littleabove freezing-point. Now the sudden bound bewildered him. He did not knowwhy Angela had changed again at the very moment when she had seemed mostcold; but she _had_ changed, and almost fiercely he determined now tofight for her. He loved her, and she must know what was in his heart. Shecould not do what she had just agreed to do unless she liked and trustedhim: and he would make the most of all the days to come. He would keep herforever if he could.

Her sudden throwing over of her own plans, for his sake, seemed too goodto be true, especially after her strange conduct at Paso Robles; but likea boy who dreams he has all the Christmas presents he ever coveted invain, and wakes to find them his, he reminded himself that it wastrue--true--true!

Angela did not tell Nick the excuse she offered Mrs. Harland for giving upher visit. It was enough for him that it was given up. He would have beeneven more proud and pleased, however, if he had known how frankly sheconfessed her real intentions.

To do that seemed to Angela the only way. To have fibbed a little, or evento have prevaricated whitely, would have spoiled everything.

"I find, dear Mrs. Harland," she said in her letter, "that I can't tearmyself from San Francisco. If I go with you to Shasta and the McCloudRiver, and come back in a week or a fortnight to do my sightseeing,nothing will be the same. I believe you will understand how I feel. Myimpressions will be broken. Besides, Mr. Hilliard is here now, and willingto show me what I ought to see. I'm afraid I seemed to repay his kindnessby being rude to him at Paso Robles. After San Francisco, he volunteers tobe my 'trail guide' through the Yosemite Valley, and if I put off thattrip too long I mayn't get so good a guide. Mr. Morehouse has advised meto take him, and says these things are done in this Western World, wheregossip is blown away like mist by the winds that sweep through the GoldenGate. Besides, why should any one gossip? There is no cause; and I amnobody, and known to few. I'm not worth gossiping about! But I wonder ifyou'll ever again invite me to Rushing River Camp? I hardly dare expectit. Yet I hope!"

Already Mrs. Gaylor had been invited, and had accepted; but Angela was notthinking of Mrs. Gaylor at the moment, and she was doing her best to keepNick's thoughts from his "boss's widow." He and "Mrs. May" went about SanFrancisco together like two children on a holiday.

The place was a surprise to Angela. Her father's stories had pictured forher a strange, wild city, of many wooden houses, a tangle of steep streetsrunning up hill and down dale, a few great mansions, a thousand or moreacres of park in the making. But the San Francisco which he had known as aboy had greatly changed, even before the fire. Angela was aware of this,though she had not been able to realize the vastness of the change; andthough she knew that the city was reborn since the epic tragedy which laidit low, she had expected to find it in a confused turmoil of growing. Thework done in six or seven years by men who loved the City of the GoldenGate--men who gave blood and fortune for her, as men will for an adoredwoman--was almost incredible. "Rome was not built in a day" she had oftenheard; but this great town of many hills, so like a Rome of a new world,seemed to have risen from its ashes by magic.

The place began to take on in her eyes a curious, startling individuality.She began to think of the city not as a town, but as a person. A woman,young, lovely, and beloved, who had gone gaily to bed one night to dreamof her lovers, her jewels, and her triumphs. While she lay smiling in herbeauty sleep, this woman had been rudely aroused by a cry of fire andshouts that warned her to fly. Dazed, she dressed in wildest haste,putting on all the gorgeous jewels she could find, for fear of losing themforever, and wrapping herself in exquisite laces. But in her hurry, shehad been obliged to fling on some very queer garments rather than not beclothed at all; and, losing her head, had contrived to save a fewworthless things. All this the woman had done, laughing through her fearof death, because nothing could conquer her brave spirit and because sheknew that, scared and destitute, near to death, she would be rescued atlast, loved better than ever for her sufferings, and by and by would bemore regal than before.

Now, here was this vital creature, rewarded for her faith by the worshipand the prowess of her lovers. What matter if she still wore some of theodd things she had picked up in a hurry? Gowns better than she had everboasted were being fashioned for her; and the contrast between a tiarashowing under a sunbonnet, a scarf of rose-point covering a cotton belt,and diamond-buckled shoes slipped on to torn stockings, made her beautymore piquant, as she sat watching the work of her lovers, on her throne bythe sea. No wonder that the men who adored such a woman were brave as she!generous and reckless as she, and on fire with energy and courage.

"But the beautiful woman worked, too, to help her lovers," Nick answeredAngela's little allegory. "When she was wounded, she said, 'Just give me ahand up and I won't die. You shall have a big reward for all you do--onlyhurry, for I can't bear to be seen like this by any one but you.'"

"And what did her lovers say?" Angela asked.

"'We'll die for you, gladly. You have our hearts. You can have our hearts'blood.'" And his eyes spoke to her of himself.

* * * * *

The first day was tiring, nevertheless Angela went out to Oakland thatnight to the Greek theatre, where a classic tragedy was to be performed;and next day it was the Presidio and Golden Gate Park. They lunched at theCliff House, and fed the barking sea-lions on the seal rocks. Then came afew hours' rest: and Chinatown was saved as a _bonne-bouche_ for theevening. They dined in the most stately and expensive of the Chineserestaurants--"no chop suey house," as their waiter said, where theyentered through the kitchen to see cakes being baked, and pots of rice inthe act of cooking. Upstairs the walls were adorned with golden flowers,panel paintings by artists of China, and strange dragons, and Buddhasthat nodded on shelves. There were open-work screens, and tables andchairs of black, carved teakwood. Angela would have been aghast had shedreamed that the queer dinner, which she liked and laughed at, cost Nickmore than a hundred dollars, but luckily she was not initiated in therarity of bird's-nest soup or other Chinese delicacies.

It was half-past eight when they finished dining, the hour when Chinatownbegins to be most lively, most ready to amuse itself and, incidentally,strangers. Therein lay the kernel of the nut, the blossom of the clove:that this bit of the old, old East, inlaid in the heart of the new Westwas not an "exhibition" like "Japan in London," but a large, busy town,living for itself alone. The big posters in Chinese characters, pasted onthe walls, were for Chinese eyes; not meant to amuse foreigners. The twoor three daily papers printed in Chinese, and filled with advertisements,were for the Chinese; the bazaars, crammed with strange Eastern things,were meant to attract women of the Orient, little flitting creatures inembroidered silk jackets and long, tight trousers, who passed and gazed,with dark eyes aslant; let European women come, or stay away, as theypleased, there were plenty of Chinese husbands whose purses were fullenough to keep the merchants of Chinatown contented. The tiny, dressed-upOriental dolls--boy and girls--who strolled about with pink balloons orbutterfly kites, in the short intervals between "Mellican" school andChinese school, were not baby-actors playing parts on the stage, but realflesh and blood children, who had no idea that they were odd to look at intheir gay-coloured gowns and tiny caps.

They did not even know that the streets through which, they toddled wereany more strange than the "Mellican" streets outside Chinatown, which theydoubtless considered extremely dull, made up of huge gray and whitebuildings like mountains or prisons; whereas the tortuous ways and blindalleys of their home-town were full of colour; balconied house fronts,high and low, huddled together, painted red or blue, and decorated withflowers, or shaped like Chinese junks or toy castles and temples. It wasall new, of course, this town of theirs, since the fire; at least what wasabove-ground and known to foreigners was new; but it had been built inimitation of past glories. The alleys were as blind, there were as manymysterious, hidden little courts, and packing-case houses and bazaars asever, so that the children saw no difference; and already a curious lookof age, a drugged weariness, had fallen upon the seven-year-old Chinatown.

Angela walked beside Nick through the lighted streets, enchanted with theflowerlike lanterns that bloomed in front of balconied restaurants orplaces of entertainment, and with the crowding figures that shuffledsilently by in felt-soled slippers or high rocker shoes. Tiny, elaboratewomen, young and old, slim youths with greeny-yellow faces like fullsummer moons, little old men with hands hidden in flowing sleeves, anddull eyes staring straight ahead, were to her ghosts of the Far East, orcreatures of a fantastic dream from which she would soon awake.

When they had "done" the principal thoroughfares and Angela had boughtivory boxes, jade bracelets, and a silver bell collar for Timmy the cat,Nick said that the time had come to join their guide. He had engaged a mansupposed to know Chinatown inside and out, and the rendezvous was at 9:30in Portsmouth Square, the "lungs of Chinatown"--close to the memorialstatue of Robert Louis Stevenson.

It was quiet there, and pleasant in the starlight, faintly gilded by thestreet lamps. The young moon of the sixth month, which had sunk with thesun when Angela was in Monterey, had not yet dropped beyond distant houseroofs. Its pearly profile looked down, surrounded by a clear-cut ring,like the face of a pale saint seen through the rose-window of a cathedral.Soon the guide came, a little dark man with a Jewish face, a German name,an American accent, and the polite manner of an Oriental.

"What would you like the lady to see?" he asked.

"Everything you advise," said Nick. "We've dined in a Chinese restaurant,and seen the things everybody sees. Now we'll do a few barber shops anddrug stores, and anything else queer you can think of."

"There's an old fellow," suggested the guide, "who used to be headmusician in the big Chinese theatre. He has a place of his own now, aboutfour storeys underground, where he tinkles on every sort of Chineseinstrument. Probably the lady would like to visit him. And I know a housewhere children sing and dance. It's underground too; and the poor littlebrutes, who go to two kinds of schools till nine o'clock, are at it tillmidnight. But the lady needn't mind. If she doesn't go, somebody elsewill, so the kids are kept out of their beds all the same--the more moneythe merrier. You may get to see a Chinese funeral too, though I ain't sureof one to-night----"

"I guess the lady wouldn't enjoy butting in at a funeral," said Nick.

"No, she wouldn't!" Angela added hastily. "But I should love to see themplaying fan-fan--isn't that what they call the gambling game?--and--andsmoking opium."

"Afraid the gambling can't be managed," said Mr. Jacob Schermerhorn, sadlyshaking his head, as if the good days were gone. "But you'd like a littlecurio store I'll take you to--owned by an American lady married to aChinese, and wearing the costume. They sell relics of the fire. And ajoss-house is interesting----"

"But the opium smoking----" Angela persisted, suspecting that he meant toslide off the subject.

"It does, on the quiet--_very_ quiet! But they're scared to death of beingfound out. Besides----"

"Besides--what?"

"Well, ma'am, your husband said when he engaged me he thought it would bebest not to try and get you into any such place. It might hurt yourfeelings."

"Oh!" exclaimed Angela. Her "feelings," if not hurt, were in commotion."He--he _isn't_ my husband."

Then she wondered if it would not have been better to have kept silence,and let the man think what he pleased. He would never see or hear of heragain. She laughed to show Nick that she was not embarrassed, and thenhurried on. "I _must_ see them smoking!"

"It would make you feel mighty sad, Mrs. May," said Nick. "I went once,and--it kind of haunted me. I thought to myself, I'd never take a womanwho had a heart----"

"I haven't a heart," laughed Angela, piqued. "I've only a will.But--you're my host, so I suppose I shall have to give my will up toyours."

To her surprise, Nick did not yield. "We'd better begin with the singingchildren," he said to Schermerhorn, "and then we won't feel we're keepingthem up late."

The guide led them through Dupont Street, the street of the bazaars, andanother smaller, less noisy street, where fat, long-gowned men, and womenwith gold clasps in their glittering edifices of ebony hair, chaffered fordried abalones, green sugarcane, and Chinese nuts. In basements they couldsee through half-open doors at the bottom of ladderlike steps,earnest-faced men, with long, well-tended queues of hair, busily tonsuringsleepy clients. Stooping merchants, with wrinkled brown masks like thesoft shells of those nuts which others sold, could be discerned in dim,tiny offices, poring through huge round spectacles as they wrote withpaint brushes, in volumes apparently made of brown paper. Here and there,in a badly lit shop with a greenish glass window, an old chemist with theair of a wizard was measuring out for a blue-coated customer an ounce ofdried lizard flesh, some powdered shark's eggs, or slivered horns ofmountain deer. These things would cure chills and fever; many otherdiseases, too, and best of all, win love denied, or frighten away badspirits.

By and by they turned out of the street into a dim passage. This led intoanother, and so on, until Angela lost count. But at last, when she beganto think they must be threading a maze, they plunged into a little squarecourt, where a lantern over one dark doorway showed faintly the blacks ofirregularly built houses. Several small windows which looked upon thecourt were barred, and there was a door with a grated peephole, whereAngela fancied that she caught the glint of eyes as the lantern swung in alight breeze. But there was no such _grille_ in the low-browed door whichthe guide approached. It stood ajar, and he pushed it open withoutknocking.

"Follow, please," he said, "it's better for me to go first." And Angelafollowed, with Nick close behind her, down a narrow flight of steps, morea ladder than a stairway, which descended abruptly from the threshold.One, two, three flights there were, so steep that you had to go slowly ortumble on your nose, and then down at the bottom of the third ran a longpassage, where a greenish yellow dusk from some unseen lamp prevailed. Thewalls were of unpainted wood, made of slips as thin as laths, and severaldoors were roughly cut in it. At the end, one of these doors gaped open,music of a peculiar shrillness floated out. Also a smell as of musk andsandalwood drifted through the crack, with small, fitful trails of smokeor curling mist.

On the other side they were burning incense inside; a Chinese man and awoman, two tiny children like gilded idols, and three or four Europeans.The latter were evidently tourists, with a guide. They sat on a roughbench, their backs to the door; and the Chinaman was perched on a smaller,higher seat, in front of a rack hung with several odd, brightly paintedChinese musical instruments. He was playing solemnly and delicately on anobject like a guitar gone mad--so thought Angela--bringing forth a singingsound, small and crystalline; but, glancing over his shoulder as thenewcomer appeared, at once he snatched up another curious object, smilingat Angela, as much as to say the change was a compliment to her. Theinstrument was of the mandolin type, covered with evil-looking snake-skin,and having only a few strings, which the player's fingers touched lightly.Each gave out a separate vibration, though all blended together with astrange, alluring sweetness, and, underneath, Angela thought that shecould hear, faintly, a wicked impish voice hissing and chuckling, as ifsomething alive and vilely clever were curled up inside theinstrument--perhaps the spirit of the snake whose skin had been stolen.

The fat man nodded to the children who stood opposite on a piece ofmatting, their silk-clad backs against the wooden wall, which waspanelled with paintings, very cheap, and not beautiful like those of therestaurant. But the colours were harmonious; and on a low table stood ablue dragon vase, holding in its mouth a single mariposa lily, such asAngela had never seen before. Nick, standing beside her, whispered thename of the white-and-crimson-spotted butterfly flower, and she smiled herthanks, as the Chinese woman gave the boy's cap a pat, and tweaked theAmerican ribbon bow which tied the queue of the little girl. Bothchildren began to sing, keeping time with the snake-skinned imp.

The boy, who looked about two feet in height--no more--sang stolidly, withan unchanging countenance, and no expression in the black beads which werehis eyes. He had on a primrose-coloured silk jacket, fastened across hisminiature chest with a loop. His blue pantaloons were bound round hisankles, and his queue, mostly artificial, was braided with scarlet. Thegirl, however--still smaller than her brother, or perhaps her_fiance_--lifted her voice emotionally, singing very high, with the notesof a musical insect, or thin silver strings stretched tight. Her eyesrolled, she appeared self-conscious, though tired, and tinkled her silverbracelets and anklets. She saw Angela enter, and admired the newcomer'spearly skin and gold hair, which seemed to attract all the light in themean room. The child stared at her intently, taking in every detail of theblack hat and simple though perfect dress. But the singing insect was notalone in her admiration.

Suddenly Angela felt a touch on her arm. She turned, and saw a Chinesegirl, who might have been sixteen or seventeen, smiling up at her. Angelasmiled too, and the girl kissed her own fingers, dimpling with pleasure,her eyes sparkling. Then, with a nod of her head, and a gesture of thehand, she invitingly indicated the half-open door.

Angela glanced at Nick. He was intent on the children and had not seen thegirl. Again the pretty creature nodded and beckoned, and Angela'scuriosity was fired. Apparently there was something which she alone wasprivileged to see. She was amused and childishly flattered. It would befun, she thought, to steal away and give Mr. Hilliard a surprise when heturned round to find her gone. Then, just when he was beginning to befrightened, she would come back and tell him her small adventure--whateverit might prove to be.

Cautiously she moved to the door, which the girl as cautiously openedwider. Then, in a second, she was out in the dusky passageway, beside hersmiling guide.

XX

THE DOOR WITH THE RED LABEL

"Mellican gell see ole Chineseman smokee opum pipe?" the girl asked.

"Why, you speak English!" exclaimed Angela, forgetting in her surprisethat here was only a very little of China set in the midst of a great dealof America.

"I go school one time," said the girl. "Dis times I fo'get sometings. Youcome Chinese gell. You velly pletty."

Angela laughed, and went, guilty but excited. This was too good anadventure to miss. Schermerhorn must know the inhabitants and habits ofthis place, and he would guess what had become of her, when they found hergone. "So are you very pretty," she smiled.

"Yes," replied the girl, in her little metallic voice. "I like you. Youlike me. You give one dollah; I take you see Chinese man smokes mo' 'n alloddeh mens. He velly old--knows ebelyting."

"Oh, I am to pay you a dollar! So it isn't all for love of my _beauxyeux_," murmured Angela. But she gave the sum, glad that she had spentmost of her money in buying jade and ivory, which now encumbered Nick'spockets. The girl took first her dollar and next her gloved hand. Then,opening one of the unpainted doors in the long, dusky passage, she ledher companion into a dark cellar.

"Where are you taking me?" Angela inquired, thinking with sudden longingof the lighted room of the musician, where Nick was perhaps beginning tolook for her.

"Next-do'h house," replied the girl calmly; and Angela would have beenashamed to draw back, even had curiosity and a faint excitement notcompelled her to go on. At one end of the cellar was a wooden stairway,very steep, going both up and down. She and her conductor went down oneflight, then along a short passage, then up some steps, then down a fewmore. Angela was enjoying the experience, but her joy was spiced withfear.

The two girls were in a very strange house, much stranger, Angela thought,than the one they had left. It was a rabbit-warren of tiny, boxlike rooms,threaded with narrow, labyrinthine passages, just wide enough for two slimpersons to pass side by side. The rough wooden walls were neither paintednor stained, and the knot-holes were stuffed with rags. Here and there arude door was open, hanging crookedly on its hinges, while the occupanttalked with a friend outside, or prepared for an expedition, laden withkitchen utensils, coal and food, to the common cooking-place of the rabbitcolony--a queer and dismal set of iron shelves, long and narrow, stickingout from a wall, and calling itself an oven.

Each door of each tiny room, which housed an individual or a whole family,had the name of the owner upon it, in Chinese characters, black andsprawling, on a red label; and at one whose paper name-plate was peelingoff, Angela's companion stopped. "Li Hung Sun; we makee visit," sheannounced, and opened the door without knocking.

Angela had seen furniture packing cases as big as that room, and extremelylike it. On one of the wooden walls, above a bunk which took up nearlyhalf the space, were a rough shelf and a few cheap, Chinese panel picturesand posters. Beside the bunk, and exactly the same height from the floorwith its ragged strip of old matting was a box, in use as a table, coveredwith black oilcloth. On this were grouped some toy chairs and chests, madeof tiny seashells pasted on cardboard; a vase with one flower in it; aminiature mirror, and some fetish charms and photographs, evidently forsale. But on the bunk itself lay a thing which made Angela forget all thesurroundings. A thin, stabbing pain shot through her heart, as if it hadbeen pricked with a needle. She was face to face with tragedy in a formhardly human; and though her plump little guide was smiling, Angela wishedthat she had listened to Nick's advice. For here was something never to beforgotten, something which would haunt her through years of dark hours,dreaming or waking. She knew that the thought of this box of a room andwhat she now saw in it would come suddenly to darken bright moments, asthe sun is all at once overcast by a black thundercloud; and that in themidst of some pleasure she would find herself wondering if the idol-likefigure still lived and suffered.

A little bag of bones and yellow skin that once had been a man lay on thewooden bunk, whose hard surface was softened only by a piece of matting.From the shrivelled face a pair of eyes looked up; deep-set, utterlytragic, utterly resigned. The face might have been on earth for sixty orseventy years perhaps. But the eyes were as old as the world, neitherbright nor dull, yet wise with a terrible wisdom far removed from joy orsorrow. The shrivelled shell of a body was a mere prison for a soul towhich torture and existence had become inseparable, and almost equallyunimportant.

"Oh, we ought not to come in!" Angela exclaimed involuntarily, on thethreshold of this secret.

The weary face faintly smiled, with a smile like a dim gleam of lightflickering over the features of a mummy.

"Come in. Many people come see me," said a voice as old as the eyes, andsad with the fatal sadness that has forgotten hope. It was a very small,weak voice, almost like a voice heard at the other end of a long-distancetelephone, and it spoke excellent English.

Silently Angela obeyed; and seeing a broken, cane-seated chair which shehad not noticed before, dropped into it as the low voice asked her to sitdown. She was not afraid now, but sadness gripped her.

"You wish see me smoke opium, lady?" the old man asked, his tonemonotonous, devoid of interest, his face a mask. The light of a tallowcandle flared into his eyes, and wavered over his egg-shaped head, whichwas entirely bald save for its queue.

"Oh, no," Angela answered, horrified, "I beg you won't smoke for me!"

"Not for you," he said. "I smoke all times. I must now. If not, I suffertoo much. It is the smoking keeps me alive. I cannot eat, or only alittle. My throats shuts up. But when I smoke, for a few minutes after Iam happy. Then I wait a while, and bimeby I smoke again."

"Surely--surely--you can't smoke opium all day and all night?" Angelamurmured, her lips dry. She seemed to know what he felt, and to feel itwith him. It was a dreadful sensation, that physical knowledge, rackingher nerves like a phase of nightmare.

"Nearly all day and all night, for I do not sleep much; perhaps two hoursin twenty-four. Once, a long time ago, the opium made me sleep. I had nicedreams. Now it makes me wide awake. But I do not suffer, only for a fewminutes. When it gets too bad, I begin again."

"What is it like--the suffering?" Angela half whispered.

"Cramps, and aching in my bones. Maybe you never had a toothache--you aretoo young. But it is like that all over my body. I wish to die then. And Iwill before long. The death will not hurt much if I keep on smoking. Myheart will stop, that is all. It will give me a chance to begin again."

"In another world--yes," said Angela. "But--couldn't you stop smoking?Take medicine of some sort--have treatment from a doctor----"

"Too late, long time ago," he answered, with a calm, fatal smile. But hiseyes lit with a faint spark of anticipation, and his cheeks worked with aslight twitching of the nerves, for, as he talked, in short sentences, hewas quietly rolling and cooking his dose of opium. Into a large pipe,which looked to Angela like a queer, enormous flute with a metal spouthalfway down its length, he pushed a pill he had rolled, ramming it inwith a long pin, and cooking it in the flame of a small spirit lamp. Hedid not speak again until he had pulled strenuously at the pipe a fewtimes. Then he went on talking, his face unchanged, unless it appearedrather fuller, less seamed with the wrinkles of intense nerve strain.

"You see," he said, "that is all I do. I was in a good deal of pain, but Iam used to it. Now I'm contented for a few minutes. While I have thishappiness, I feel willing to pay the price. But it is a big price. I warnthe young men who come to see me not to begin opium smoking. It is soeasy. You think you will try, to find out what it is like; and then youwill stop. But you do not stop. Four weeks--six weeks--and it is finishedfor you. You are on the road where I am. That was the way with me. It isthe way with every one who starts on that road and goes not back beforethe turn. Better not start, for the dreams are too good at first."

His resignation to the chains forged by himself seemed to Angela thesaddest part of all. He was beyond help, and knew it, did not even thinkof it.

She had a strange burning behind her eyes, as she listened, though she wasnot inclined to cry.

"Most of the time," he answered, the little spark of physical contentmentbeginning to dim in his eyes already. "I am very weak. I do not walk,except when I go down the passage to cook a little coffee once a day. Orsometimes I crawl out in the sun. But soon I come back. I can stand only afew minutes. I am too light in the head, when I get on my feet. When I wasyoung I was tall and large. But a man shrinks small after the opium getshim."

"How you must regret!" Angela sighed.

"I do not know. Why regret when it is too late? I regret that it is hardto find opium. It is forbidden now, and very dear. I sell the cleanings ofmy pipe--the yenshee, we call it--so I keep going."

"How can you bear to sell to others what has ruined your life?" Angelacould not help asking.

"I would do anything now to have opium," he said calmly. "But it is theold smokers who smoke the yenshee, not the young ones. So I do no harm."

Angela sprang up, shuddering. "Is there nothing I can do to help you?" shepleaded, her eyes turned from him, as he began to cook another pill.

"You can buy something I sell. That will help. Do you like this?" And hepointed to a little painted china group of three monkeys, one of whichcovered its ears, another its eyes, and the third its mouth. "You knowwhat it means? 'See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil.' It is the mottoof our people."

"Yes--I'll buy that. It's a good motto," Angela stammered. Taking up thelittle figures, she laid a five-dollar gold piece on the box table,knowing only too well what it would buy.

"You wish to see me smoke this other pipe?" and he put it to his toothlessmouth.

"No--I can't bear it."

She pushed past the Chinese girl, hardly knowing what she did. She feltfaint and sick, as if she must have fresh air. As her hand fumbled for thelatch, the door was pushed violently open, and Hilliard came in, withSchermerhorn at his back.

"Thank Heaven!" Nick stammered. He was very pale.

"You gave us a pretty bad scare, Miss," added the man, who had beeninformed that Nick was "not her husband."

"Lucky I thought of this house, and this old chap."

"But--there was no danger," Angela defended herself. "Nothing could havehappened."

"Most anything can happen--in Chinatown," mumbled Schermerhorn. "Did youever read a story by Norris called _The Third Circle?_"

"Not yet," said Angela. "I bought the book, but----"

"Well, read that story when you get home to-night, Miss, and maybe you'llknow what your young gentleman here went through."

Her "young gentleman!" But Angela did not smile. A thing would have had tobe very funny to strike her as laughable just then.

"I was in--Hades for a few minutes," said Nick, hastily qualifying theremark he had been about to make.

XXI

"WHO IS MRS. MAY?"

Only one letter had Nick written to Carmen Gaylor--the one he had promisedto write, telling her of his arrival in New York; that he was "prettylonely, and didn't know how long he could stand for seeing no homesights." It never occurred to him to write again; and Carmen was notsurprised at his remissness. She knew that Nick was not the sort of manwho likes to write letters or can put his feelings upon paper. But whenshe received her invitation to visit Rushing River Camp, she could havesung for joy.

"We are hoping that an old friend of yours, Mr. Nickson Hilliard, may bewith us when you come; as well as Miss Dene, the authoress," Mrs. Harlandsaid in her note. And Carmen believed that she had Hilliard to thank forthe compliment paid her by Falconer and his sister.

She knew that he had met Falconer and admired him; and putting two and twotogether, she fancied that already Nick must have come West, meaning tosurprise her by his sudden appearance; that he had fallen in with Mrs.Harland and Falconer on the journey, perhaps been invited by them, andsuggested, or at least hinted, that she should be asked to join thehouse-party at the same time.

"Otherwise, I don't believe they'd ever have thought of me," she toldherself, with a humility which would have had an element of sulkiness ifshe had not been half out of her wits with happiness over the idea thatNick was near, and wanting her. If he had not wanted her, he would nothave schemed to have her with him at Rushing River Camp.

All the anxieties and suspicions of the past weeks were forgotten. Shetelegraphed her acceptance, and began thinking what to wear during thevisit. She admitted in her mind that Mrs. Harland was a "bigger swell"than she, and knew more of the world and Society. But she determined thatthe hostess should not outdo her guest in the way of "smart" dresses,hats, and jewellery.

Carmen broke her journey at San Francisco, staying there two days at thePalace Hotel. On the first of these days, as it happened, Nick and Angelamotored to Mount Hamilton, and stayed late at the Lick Observatory. On thesecond day they went to Mount Tamalpais, lunching at the delightful"tavern" on the mountain-top, and rushing madly down the wondrous steepsat sunset, in the little "gravity car" guided by the landlord.

So it was that Carmen got no chance glimpse of the two together, and hadno suspicion that in the hotel register of the St. Francis was inscribedthe name of Nickson Hilliard. She shopped contentedly, and enjoyed lookingat the prettily dressed women, because she saw none whom she thought asgood-looking as herself. Then, on the second evening, just as Angela andNick were tearing down the rocky height known familiarly to San Franciscoas "the mountain," Carmen left for Shasta Springs.

It was early next morning after the long journey north, that the whitepinnacle of Mount Shasta appeared floating in the sky above dark pines,and the rushing stream of the Sacramento, fed by eternal snows. But Carmenhardly glanced out of her stateroom window at the hovering white glory,though her maid mentioned that Shasta was in sight. Mrs. Harland andFalconer were both coming to meet her at the Springs station, and wouldmotor her to Rushing River Camp by the fifty-mile road over the mountains.Carmen hoped that Nick might be with them, though nothing had been saidabout him in the telegram they had sent. In any case, her one care was tobe beautiful after the night journey. She took no interest in mountainsand rivers. Her whole soul was concentrated upon the freshness of hercomplexion and the angle of the mauve hat on her dark waved hair. Never agood sleeper, she had been too feverish at the prospect of seeing Nick todo more than doze off for a few minutes in her berth; consequently, therewere annoying brown shadows under her eyes, and her cheeks looked a littlesallow; but Mariette was an accomplished maid, who had been with Carmenever since the old theatrical days, and when Mrs. Gaylor was ready toleave her stateroom at Shasta Springs station she looked as bright-eyedand rosy as if she had slept without dreaming. This effect was partly dueto liquid rouge and bismuth, but largely to happy excitement--a woman'sgreatest beautifier.

Her heart was beating fast under embroidered, dove-coloured chiffon andpale gray Shantung, a dress too elaborate for a railway journey; and shehad no eyes for the fairylike greenness of the place, the mountain-sideshadowed by tall trees, or rocks clothed in delicate ferns and spoutingforth white cascades. The full, rich summer she had left at home in theSouth was early spring in the cool North. The earth was like a bride,displaying her trousseau of lace, fall after fall of it, on green velvetcushions, and the gold of her dowry, the splendour of her wedding gifts,in a riot of flowers. No money coined in mints could buy diamonds such asthis bride had been given by her mother--Nature; diamonds flashing inriver and cascade upon cascade. But Carmen Gaylor had no eyes for them.She had merely a pleasant impression that Shasta Springs seemed to be apretty place, and no wonder it was popular with millionaires, who builtthemselves houses up there on the height, in the forest! But it was only apassing thought, as he alighted from the train in the welcoming music ofmany waters, which she hardly heard. Her attention was centred on pickingout Mrs. Harland and Falconer among the people who were waiting to meetfriends, and on seeing whether Nick Hilliard was with them.

There was a crowd on the platform. Pretty "summer girls" with bare heads,over which they held parasols of bright green, or rose-red, that threwcharming lights and shadows on their tanned faces: brown young men inkhaki knickerbockers, shaking hands with paler men just coming from town,and little children in white, laughing at sight of arriving "daddies".

Soon Falconer, towering over most others, appeared with his sister by hisside, and Carmen was pleased to see that Mrs. Harland's clothes could notcompare with hers. Having no idea of suiting her costume to the country,she thought herself infinitely preferable in her Paris gown to Mrs.Harland in a cotton frock, and shady straw hat. But no Nick was visible,and Carmen's pleasure was dashed.

The brother and sister met her cordially, took her to look at the bubblingspring in its kiosk, and then up the height on the scenic railway.Presently they landed on the level of the parklike plateau, where a bighotel and its attendant cottages were visible, with many golden dolomiticpeaks and great white Shasta itself peeping through the trees. Stillnothing had been said about Nick; and Carmen dared not ask. She fearedsome disappointment, and shrank from the blow.

Mariette had brought coffee to her mistress's stateroom very early, butCarmen was not averse to the suggestion of breakfast at the hotel beforemotoring over the mountains. As they ate, they talked of impersonalthings: the colony under the trees; the making of the mountain road; andFalconer told how Mount Shasta--long ago named by Indians "Iska, theWhite"--was the abode of the Great Spirit; and how, in old, old times,before the Indians, the sole inhabitants of the country were grizzlybears. Carmen listened to the unfolding of the tale into a fantasticlove-story, saying, "Oh!" or "How interesting!" at polite intervals.Always she asked herself, "Where's Nick? Hasn't he come yet? Is itpossible he's been prevented from coming at all?" She tried to braceherself against disappointment and not show that she cared, but she turnedred and white when Mrs. Harland said at last, "We're so sorry Mr. Hilliardcouldn't be with us. We both like him so much, and it would have been verynice to have him too, while you are at Rushing River Camp."

"Perhaps he has, and I've missed the letter," Carmen broke in, hating tolet these strangers think her slighted by Hilliard. "I've been in SanFrancisco two days. But--where is he? On his way home?"

"I don't quite know," replied Mrs. Harland, rather evasively, it seemed.And then she changed the subject.

Carmen had never seen anything like that winding road over the mountains,with the white, phantom glimpses of Shasta at every forest turning.Falconer's big automobile, which he kept at the "Camp," ran up the steepgradients without appearing to know that they existed, and Carmen stroveto be cheerful, to look as if she were enjoying the drive. But her heartwas a lump of ice, though she talked and laughed a great deal, tellingMrs. Harland about the rich or important people she knew, instead ofdrinking in the sweet air, and giving her eyes to the wild loveliness. Itwas bad enough that Nick was not coming, but the air of reserve oruneasiness with which Mrs. Harland had said, "I don't quite know," touchedthe situation with mystery. She realized that, if there were anything tohide, she would not find it out from her host or hostess; but when on theveranda of the glorified log-house overhanging the river she saw TheoDene, Carmen instantly said to herself with conviction, "If _she_ knows,I'll get it out of her!"

And seeing Miss Dene at Rushing River Camp she was almost inclined to beglad that Nick was not there. She admired Theo's splendid red hair anddazzling skin. She saw that, though the young woman's clothes were simple,their simplicity was Parisian and expensive; and she saw also that Theowas a flirt--a "man-eater," as she put it to herself, her dark eyesmeeting the green eyes in a first understanding glance.

Miss Dene was far from unwilling to be pumped. In fact, she meant to bepumped; and that afternoon, while Mrs. Harland was writing letters andFalconer was with his secretary, whom he could not escape even in thecountry, she invited Mrs. Gaylor to sit with her on the broad veranda,beneath which the river ran singing a never-ending song.

The two pretty women, the one dark the other fair, made a charmingpicture, and neither was oblivious of the fact; but it would not haveoccurred to Carmen that her self-appreciation might be put into words.However, she laughed when Theo said:

"What a shame there aren't any men to admire us! We're both looking tooadorable, aren't we? I should love to snapshot you in that Indian hammock,though the picture would lose a lot without colour. And it's very unkindof you if you wouldn't like to have a picture of me in my greenrocking-chair on the scarlet rug."

This gave Carmen a chance to touch upon the subject in her heart without,as she thought, arousing any suspicion.

"You look awfully pretty," she said; "and this balcony is lovely, hangingover the river. It's quite different from my home; though mine's nice,too. And we have got one man--Mr. Falconer."

"Yes," replied Theo promptly; "at Santa Barbara. He was motoring with Mrs.May. I thought him one of the handsomest men I ever saw. But I'm afraid heisn't coming. She isn't either--of course."

Carmen's face crimsoned; then her colour died away and left her sicklywhite, all but the little pink spots of rouge she had put on in themorning.

"Motoring with Mrs. May!" she repeated, harshly, then controlled her voiceby a violent effort. "Was Mrs. May expected here?"

"Was expected," Theo echoed with emphasis. She was enjoying herselfthoroughly; literally enjoying "herself." This was almost as good as ifHilliard had not refused the invitation and Angela had not basely slippedout of the engagement after practically accepting. "She won't come. Isuppose she thinks she's having more fun where she is. Though if Mr.Hilliard had come I haven't the ghost of a doubt that she would. Do youknow Mr. Hilliard well?"

This in a tone as innocent as that of a little child talking of its dolls.

"Pretty well," answered Carmen, moistening her lips. "Who is Mrs. May? Iheard of her once. She's a friend of the Morehouses."

"She's a new importation," replied Theo lightly. "So far as I can makeout, she and Mr. Hilliard met in New York."

"She--gives that impression," Miss Dene smiled. This Carmen Gaylor waslike a beautiful, fiery thundercloud. Teasing her was delightful. Theofelt as if she were in a play. It was a dreadful waste of good materialnot to have an audience. But she would "use the scene" afterward. Sheremembered hearing a great actress tell how she visited hospitals forconsumptives, and even ran up to Davos one winter, when she was preparingto play _La Dame aux Camelias_. Theo would have done all that if she hadbeen an actress. She was fond of realism in every form, and did not stickat gruesomeness.

"A grass widow?" exclaimed Carmen eagerly.

Theo shrugged her shoulders. "Really, I can't tell you."

Carmen supposed that she knew little of Mrs. May, and had met her for thefirst time at Santa Barbara with Nick. With Nick--motoring! The thoughtgave Carmen a strange sensation, as if her blood had turned to littlecold, sharp crystals freezing in her veins.

"Not very young, I suppose?" she hazarded, her lips so dry that she had totouch them with her tongue. But that was dry, too.

"Oh, about twenty-three or four, and looks nineteen."

There was no hope, then! Nick was with a woman, beautiful, young,presumably a widow, and evidently in love with him, as Miss Dene said thatshe would be here at Rushing River Camp if Nick had come. A deadlysickness caught Carmen by the throat. Her love for Nick was one with herlife, and had been for years. Always she had believed that some day shewould be happy with Nick, would have him for her own. Anything else wouldbe impossible--too bad to be true. Even when he went East without askingher to marry him, though she was free, she had assured herself that heloved her. Had he not as much as said that the anniversary of herhusband's death was not a lucky night to choose for love-making? Carmenhad made certain that she was the only woman in Nick's life; and he hadlaughed when she hinted that "some lovely lady" might persuade him to stayin New York.

"Where is Mrs. May now?" she asked sharply, past caring much whether or noMiss Dene saw her agony.

"In San Francisco--unless she's gone to the Yosemite Valley with Mr.Hilliard."

"With him! Why should she go everywhere with him?"

Theo laughed. "Because she likes his society, I suppose, and he likeshers. He is supposed to be her unpaid, amateur guide, I believe, and shetrots her maid about with her, to play propriety. Also a cat. Don't youthink a black cat a charmingly original chaperon?"

Carmen did not answer. Anguish and rage in her heart were like vitrioldashed on a raw wound. No wonder Nick had not written! And she had beenhappy, and trusting, while he forgot his debt of gratitude, and ignoringher existence, travelled about the country with another woman. Only thismorning Carmen had dreamed of meeting him here, and that he had asked forher invitation, as a favour to himself. She could have screamed, and tornher flesh, in agony. She suffered too much. Some one else would have topay for this! Nick would have to pay, and that woman, that love piratesailing from strange seas to steal the treasure of others.

Her one uncontrollable impulse was to go and find them both, to dosomething to part them, she did not know what yet, but inspiration wouldcome. She felt unable to bear any delay. Somehow, she must find an excuseto get away from this place. She would have to go San Francisco, orperhaps even to the Yosemite Valley, and find Nick and the woman together.

It occurred to her that she might contrive to telegraph to Simeon Harp,telling him to wire her that something had gone wrong on the ranch, thatshe must return home at once. Mariette could find out how to sendtelegrams from here--there was sure to be a way--and get the message offin secret.

* * * * *

That night a telegram came for Mrs. Gaylor, announcing that there had beena fire on the ranch. She was needed at home. She showed the bit of paperto Mrs. Harland and Falconer, and there was much sympathy and regret thather visit must be broken short.

Next morning she left, having been but twenty-four hours at Rushing RiverCamp. And late that night, she arrived in San Francisco. But she was in nohurry to obey the summons from the Gaylor ranch.

XXII

THE BOX OF MYSTERY

Again Angela was expecting Hilliard. They were to dine, and then she andNick and Kate and the cat were going by train to El Porto, the gate of theYosemite Valley. Angela was waiting in her sitting-room, as on that firstevening there, when she had changed one decision for another all in amoment; but now she was in travelling dress, and a week had passed sincethat other night. It had been, perhaps, the happiest week of her life; butthe week to which she was looking forward would be happier still.Afterward, of course, there would be an end. For the end must come. Shewas clear-sighted enough to realize that.

As she thought these things--and quickly put away the thoughts, sincenothing must spoil this hour--there was a rap at the door, and she went tothrow it open, confident that she would see Nick smiling at her, saying inhis nice voice, "Well, are you ready?"

But it was not Nick. A bellboy of the hotel had brought up a largecardboard box which had arrived by post. The address was printed: "Mrs.May, Fairmont Hotel, San Francisco," and there were several stamps uponit; but Angela could not make out the postmark. She found a pair ofscissors and cut the string. The box was tightly packed with a quantityof beautiful foliage, lovely leaves shaped like oak leaves, and of brightautumn colours, purple, gold, and crimson, though spring had hardly turnedto summer.

She plunged her hands into the box, lifting out the gorgeous mass, lookingfor a card or note, but finding none. It was a pity that this mysteriousgift had arrived just as she was going away. However, she was keeping onher rooms, and would leave instructions with the chambermaid to take greatcare of the beauties.

Some one else was tapping at the door now, and this time it was Nick.Angela's hands overflowed with their brilliant burden as she called aloud,"Come in!" and he came with the very words she had expected: "Well, areyou ready?"

But they died on his lips, and it seemed to her, in the waning light, thathis face grew pale.

"Drop that stuff, quick, Mrs. May!"

He flung the words at her, and Angela, bewildered and amazed, threw downthe coloured leaves as if a tarantula hid among them.

"Have you got any ammonia?" Nick asked sharply.

"Yes."

"Go wash your hands in it while I use your telephone. Don't be frightened,but that's poison-oak, and I want to prevent it from hurting you."

"Can it--kill me?" Her face quivered.

"No. And it shan't do you any harm if I can help it. But be quick as youcan. Keep your hands in the basin till I get what I'm sending out for."

Without another word Angela ran into the next room, and so to the bath.As she poured ammonia into the marble basin, feeling a little faint, shecould hear Nick's voice at the telephone: "Send to the nearest drug storefor some gamgee tissue, a bundle of lint, and a pint bottle of lime-water.This is a hurry call."

Angela's heart was thumping. It was horrible that there should be some onein the world--a lurking, mysterious some one--who planned in secret to doher dreadful harm. The incident seemed unreal. Whom did she know, on thisside of the world, who could hate her so bitterly? She was afraid, as ofeyes that she could not see, staring through the dark.

Nick called from the sitting-room: "How do you feel? Are you all right?"And when she answered "Yes," tried to reassure her. It began to look as ifthere were much to fear. Luckily he had come in time. Was she sure shehadn't held the leaves near her face? No. Then she might hope that therewould be no trouble now. Already he had bundled the bunch of fire into anewspaper and it had been taken out of the room to be destroyed, like awicked witch. Luckily there were people who could touch poison-oak andsuffer no harm. Nick told Angela he "felt in his bones" that no evil thingcould have power over her.

Soon, almost before she could have believed it possible, the messengerarrived with a strange assortment of packets from the chemist. Nickshouted that all was ready, and she went back to the sitting-room, herhands dripping ammonia. Kate had been summoned, and having just appeared,was about to empty a large flower bowl, which Nick had ordered her towash. The Irish girl was pale, and looked dazed. She knew nothing yet ofwhat had happened, but guessed at some mysterious accident to hermistress.

A great bouquet of roses which Nick had sent that morning now lay on aside table, and into the flower bowl they had adorned he poured thelime-water. In this he soaked the gamgee tissue (Angela had never heard ofthe stuff before), and bade her hold out both hands. Then he bound themquickly and skilfully, intent on what he was doing, though his head wasbent closer to Angela's than it had ever been before, and the fragrance ofher hair was sweet, as in his dreams of angels. As for her, she felt achildlike confidence in his ability to cure her, to save her from harm.

Over the tissue, wet with lime-water, Nick wrapped bandages of lint; andthe operation finished, Angela was as helpless as if she had pulled on apair of tight, thick gloves whose fingers would not bend.

"Does this mean that we aren't to go to-night?" she asked mournfully.

"I hope it doesn't mean that. But we can't be dead certain yet," answeredNick. He looked at her searchingly, his face drawn and anxious; but itrelaxed as if he were suddenly relieved from some great strain as his eyestravelled over the smooth, pure features, and met her questioning gaze atlast with assurance.

"If we are not certain soon, it will be too late to start, and I can'tbear to put off going. I'm looking forward to the trip so much!" she said."Shall we dine here? You'll have to feed me, I'm afraid." She laughed; buta slow flush crept up to Nick's forehead.

"Would you let me?"

"Yes. Why not? If you don't mind. Anything rather than miss ourtrain--unless some horrid symptoms are coming on that you haven't thecourage to tell me about. Ring for dinner, Kate. And you can go and haveyours. We'll do everything exactly as if we expected to start."

"Sure, ma'am, don't make me leave the room till I've heard what Mr.Hilliard has to say. I'm that worried till I know the worst," Katepleaded.

Angela smiled. "I'm just beginning to learn," she said, "that it's amistake to think of the _worst_. I used to make a point of doing it, andit generally happened. Now--I expect the best!" She spoke to Kate, andlooked at Nick. "But tell me what poison-oak can do."

Nick shivered. For an instant, a picture of that adored young facehideously disfigured turned him sick. And even her little white hands--no,it did not bear thinking of! But he controlled himself and tried to speakcoolly.

"Why, it affects some people so their faces and hands swell up, and--andget red and spotted. Of course, that doesn't last many days: but--it isn'tnice while it does last, and I--couldn't bear the thought of its happeningto you. I just couldn't bear it! It isn't going to happen, though," headded hastily, seeing the colour leave her lips. "By this time you'd havebegun to feel mighty bad, if you were in for trouble. You can't be easy toaffect, for if you were, the poison might have gone to your face, withoutyour even touching the leaves. Your hands don't burn, do they?"

"Only a little--from the ammonia."

"That saved them. If you feel all right in an hour more, you can have thebandages off, and the danger'll be over for good. Then we can start,unless the shock's been too much for you?"

"I'm too bewildered to be shocked," said Angela.

"Who could have played such a horrid practical joke on me? It's a littlebit like--in a ridiculous way--the play of _Adrienne Lecouvreur_, where awoman is poisoned by a bouquet of flowers sent by a jealous rival. Only Ihaven't a jealous rival!"

Nick's face hardened. "I'm going to find out who did send the stuff. Whileyou were in the other room I was looking at the wrapper of the box. Ican't make out the postmark; but I reckon there are those who can, and Iwon't rest till I know."

"What can you do to find out?" asked Angela.

"I can put the best detective in San Francisco on to the job. He shallfollow up the clues like a bloodhound, and hang on to them when he's got'em, like a bulldog."

"Oh, but don't let's put off our journey!" Angela exclaimed. "I feel, ifwe do that, we'll never go. It has always----" she half-whispered, "seemedtoo good to come true."

"I'd rather do 'most anything than put off the trip," said Nick. "Butthere's time for everything. We don't leave the hotel till after nine.Dinner won't be ready for a bit; and if you'll let me, I'll go out now andsee a man I've heard of--a very smart detective."

But Angela begged him to wait. She hated the thought of being left alonetill she was sure that no ill effect need be feared from the poison. SoNick stayed, not unwillingly, and a simple dinner was ordered in haste.

Kate was sure that after what had happened she would have no appetite fordinner; but, like a true Irish girl, she was romantic to the core of herheart; and because she was deeply in love with her Tim, she had the"seeing eye" which showed her clearly what was in Nick Hilliard's heartfor Angela.

Of course, he was not good enough for her lady; no man could be. But Katehad a sneaking kindness for Nick, the splendid giver of the golden bag,and would not, by offering her services as cutter-up-of-food for thequeen, rob him of the privilege.

So Kate slipped out unobtrusively, and the privilege in question becameNick's. It was a joy, even a delirious joy, but it was also an ordeal; foras he fed her, Angela smiled at him. Each time that he proffered aspoonful of soup or a morsel of chicken she met his gaze with laughingeyes, roguish, under dark lashes, as the eyes of a child. The difficultywhen this happened, as it did constantly, was to keep hands steady andmind calm, as if for the performance of a delicate surgical operation;because to drop a thing, or aim it wrongly, would have been blackdisgrace. And to ensure perfection of aim, attention must be concentratedupon the lady's lips as she opened them to receive supplies. It was towatch the unfolding of a rosebud into a rose while forbidden to touch therose. And even monks of the severest brotherhoods may pluck the flowersthat grow beside their cloisters.

Nick did not leave Angela until Kate had come back; then he and the Irishgirl together unwound the bandages. There was a moment of suspense, butthe hands were satin-smooth.

"It seems to be written that you shall save me always from horrors--eversince the night of the burglar," Angela said, when Kate had gone to thenext room to dispose of the lint.

"I shall be like a child learning to walk alone when my journeyings withyou come to an end."

There was his chance to say, "_Must_ they come to an end?" But Kate wasnear; and besides, a snub from Angela might stop the "journeyings" thenand there. So he answered with a mere compliment, as any man may, meaningnothing at all or a great deal. To save her from danger, it was worthwhile to have been born, he said. And he remembered, as he had rememberedmany times, how clear had been the call he had heard to go East; a calllike a voice in his ears, crying, "Nick, I want you. Come." He was temptedto be superstitious, and to believe that unconsciously, in some mysteriousway, Angela had summoned him to be her knight. To be even more, perhaps,in the end. Who could tell--yet?

It was a good sign, at all events, that she was reluctant to give up thetrip; and Nick decided not to risk confiding in the police. Put the affairof the poison-oak into their hands, and they would lasso every oneconcerned, with yards of red tape! In that case, he and Mrs. May might bedetained in San Francisco. No! A private detective would do the trick; andNick had the name of one pigeon-holed in his brain: Max Wisler, a shrewdfellow, once employed with success by "old Grizzly Gaylor" when there hadbeen a leakage of money and vanishing of cattle on the ranch. Nick went insearch of Max Wisler now, in a taxi, and found him at the old address; aqueer little frame house, in a part of San Francisco which had been leftuntouched by the great fire.

Wisler was at home, and remembered Hilliard. He was fair and fat, with amanner somewhat cold; unlit by enthusiasm; yet as he listened a gleamflashed out from his carefully controlled gray eyes, which hinted athidden fires. He heard Nick to the end of the story, in silence, playingalways with the leaves of a book which he had been reading--a volume ofFenimore Cooper's. Still he went on fingering the pages for a minute, whenHilliard paused expecting questions. Then he looked up suddenly, seemingliterally to catch Nick's eye and hold it by force.

"What woman is jealous of this lady--Mrs. May?" he asked.

"I don't think she knows any woman in California, except Mrs. Falconer'ssister--and a Miss Dene from England, an authoress who is travelling aboutwith Mrs. Harland in Falconer's car."

"Ah! Mrs. Harland's out of the running. And that Miss Dene's gone East. Ihappened to see her start, yesterday. She had a collection of peoplegiving her a send-off. Of course, she could have employed some one else todo the job, and keep out of the way herself. But--I guess we must lookfurther. Now see here, Mr. Hilliard, a patient has got to be frank withhis doctor if the doctor's to do any good. Are you engaged to marry Mrs.Gaylor, the widow of my old client?"

"Humph! Rumour's wrong, then. But that isn't to say it never entered herhead. Does she know Mrs. May?"

"No," said Nick. "Surely you're not hinting----"

"I'm not hinting anything. I'm feeling my way in the dark."

"It isn't quite dark. You've got the paper that was round the box. I sawyou looking at it, through a magnifying glass, just now."

"That postmark means the longest way round that we can take. Do you thinkany one with an ounce of brains would send poison from a place whereshe--or he, if you like--was known? No. She--or he--would go a long way,and a roundabout way. Or send a trusted messenger. Tell me straight, Mr.Hilliard, has Mrs. Gaylor got in her employ a confidential maid, or man?"

Nick, distressed and embarrassed, angry with the detective, yet unwillingto offend and put him off his work, knew not what to answer. There wasSimeon Harp, of course, who would do anything for Carmen. But Nick couldnot, would not, play into Wisler's hands by mentioning the name of Harp,or telling of the old man's doglike devotion to his mistress. It was adetestable and vulgar suggestion which connected Mrs. Gaylor with thisaffair--detestable for every one concerned; for Carmen, for Nick; aboveall, for Angela.

"Mrs. Gaylor hasn't a servant who isn't loyal," he returned at last,evading Wisler's eye. "But you'd better get this notion out of your mind,to start with, or you'll find yourself on the wrong track. Mrs. Gaylor andI are good friends, no more. She doesn't know anything about Mrs. May; andif she did, there's nothing to make her jealous, even if--if we werewarmer friends than we are."

"Sure she never heard of the lady?"

Nick hesitated. "I don't see how she can have heard. I haven't written toher since I--met Mrs. May."

"Ah, you haven't written to her since then. H'm! Does Mrs. Gaylor know Mr.Falconer and his sister, and their authoress friend Miss Dene?"

"Women do a lot of things that don't come to men's knowledge. That's onereason detectives exist. Well, you don't seem much inclined to help me,Mr. Hilliard, though you say you're anxious to get to the bottom of thislittle mystery as soon as possible."

"I am anxious. And if I don't help you, it's because I can't. I don't wantyou to lose yourself in the woods, and have to find your way back, tobegin all over again."

"No. I don't want that, either," said Wisler, smiling his slow smile."It's a long time since I got lost in the woods, and I'll do my best notto lose my reckoning this time. I must worry along without you, I see. ButI'm not discouraged. When you've finished up this trip that you seem tothink so important, I may have news for you, of one kind or another."

Nick looked at his watch. It was time to go back to the Fairmount if hemeant to take Angela away that night.

XXIII

THE HAPPY VALLEY

In thinking of the Yosemite, Angela had, half-unconsciously, picturedherself and Nick Hilliard alone in the valley together, separated from"mere tourists" by a kind of magic wall. But down it tumbled with herfirst moment at El Portal; and behold, on the other side of the wall werehundreds of eager young men and women who no doubt resented her existenceas much as she resented theirs.

The huge veranda of the log-built hotel, on the hill above the railway,swarmed with brides and bridegrooms. It was extremely early in themorning, and everybody was sleepy, even those who had passed their nightin the hotel, not in the train; nevertheless, though good-natured, one andall wore an air of square-chinned, indomitable determination which puzzledAngela.

Something was evidently about to happen, something of immense importance,for which each man with all his feminine belongings intended to be readyif possible before any one else. Angela watched the silent preparationswith impersonal interest while she waited for Hilliard to come from theoffice and tell her about the special carriage for which he hadtelegraphed.

By this time a hasty breakfast had been snatched, and in a crowdeddining-room full of laughter and chattering she had resigned herself tothe falling of the magic wall. Other people had a right to enjoy theYosemite and she must not grudge them their place. "I suppose," she saidto Kate, who stood beside her on the veranda, "that all these nice girlsand men are going off for different excursions. They seem a good dealexcited. I wonder why?"

Just then a stage drawn by four splendid horses drove up the verandasteps. Something was shouted. Angela could not catch the announcement, forshe had all she could do not to be carried off her feet in the generalrush. A dozen of the firm-faced men and resolute girls made a dash for thebox seat. With no malice in their eyes, they fought and wrestled with eachother; and it was a case of the best man wins. Those worsted in thestruggle with the utmost good-nature contented themselves with the nextbest places; and so on to the back seat, into which the weakest fell,almost before the driver had brought his horses to a full stop. Away torethe stage with its laughing load, and another vehicle whirled up to thehotel steps, to be filled in a breathless instant.

As Angela stood watching, fascinated yet appalled, Nick came out to her,with the air of a general who has lost a battle.

"How glad I am," she whispered, "that we haven't got to fight for ourlives like that. I simply couldn't do it."

"Mrs. May, we _have_ got to!" he groaned. "I've failed, after all myboastings of what I could do for you in the Yosemite. A private carriagecan't be had, and they've made a rule that no one's allowed to book a seatin advance. When the stage for the Sentinel Hotel comes along, I shallswing you on to the box seat, if I kill ten men."

Angela rebelled. She pitied herself so intensely that she had nocompassion left for Nick. "What--dash people away, and push ahead of them?I'd rather--yes, I'd rather turn back to San Francisco."

"I don't see myself letting you turn back," said Nick. And said it sofirmly that Angela, never opposed by him before, looked up in surprise. Hewas not smiling. Evidently he was in earnest, deadly earnest. She knewthat what he told her she would have to do, and, oddly enough, she grewquite calm.

"When our stage comes along," he said in a low voice, "I shall get inbefore any one else, and keep a place for you. Don't hesitate a second,but be ready for a jump. I'll have you up by my side before you knowwhat's happened. Kate must be close behind, and I'll try to swing her upto the next seat."

"Why shouldn't _we_ have the back places, since somebody must?" Angelaquestioned meekly.

"Because I want you to have the best there is, and I'm going to get it foryou, that's the only reason," Nick explained, leaving no room for furtherargument. "It's the least I owe you, after failing to keep my otherpromises."

She said no more; and round her the fight for places went on, desperate,yet extraordinarily good-natured. People tried with all their might tograb what they coveted, but if somebody else snatched it from under theirnoses, why, blame Kismet! The rule of the game was to make no moan.

Always, as a new relay surged forward, Nick by some insidious manoeuvreedged Angela and Kate nearer to the front. At last he got them wedgedbehind the foremost row of travellers who were waiting to spring upon andoverwhelm an approaching stage. Those who had won the way to the front andachieved safety, unless defeated by an unexpected rear attack, wore anappearance of deceitful calm. Two extremely big young men, who had the airof footballers in training, did what they could to form a hollow squareround a couple of fragile but determined girls. The party, while inreality bent upon securing the two best seats at any cost to life or limb,pretended to be looking at an illustrated newspaper. This feint wasintended to put others off their guard; and the four concealed theiremotions by discussing the pictures on the uppermost page.

A name spoken by one of the girls was an electric shock for Angela. In aninstant the veranda, the crowd on it, and the stage whose turn would comenext, vanished from before her eyes like a dissolving view.

"Prince di Sereno! What a romantic name. And say, _isn't_ he handsome? Iwonder if he's as good-looking as that, really?"

"She's handsome, too," the other girl added. "I do hope they won't bekilled."

"Come along, kids--look sharp!" said the two young men. And before otherswho hoped to annex the box seat could breathe after an interlude offootballing, the conquering four secured what they wanted. Those lessfortunate were tumbling up as best they could; and Angela had scarcelytime to realize that she had not dreamed the incident, when the stageloadhad bounced away.

She was left dazed, and blushing deeply, so deeply that Nick, quick tonotice lights and shadows on her face, wondered what match had lit thatrosy fire.

Angela's first thought was that somehow she had been found out. Then sheremembered that the girls had seen the name in a newspaper. Also they hadbeen looking at Paolo's picture. And he _could_ be handsome--in a picture.But of whom had they said, "She's handsome, too?" Could it be that her ownphotograph had been published with Paolo's? If so, who had dared toreproduce it, and why? What if Nick should come across the picture andrecognize the face as hers? She did not want him to know that she was thePrincess di Sereno until, for her own reasons and in her own time, sheshould choose to tell him the story of her life. Once she had thoughtthere was no reason why he need ever know; that they would part, and shewould remain in his memory as Angela May. Now, however, she began to seethat the moment must come when she would not only need, but wish, to tellhim all, so that he might know why. But she never quite finished thisexplanation in her mind. It was too fond of trying to finish itselfwithout waiting to be put into words.

She was a little frightened now, lest by chance there should be apremature revelation, for in the rush to get away the girls dropped thepaper they had been reading. It lay on the veranda steps, and though thecover was turned back, and only an advertisement page could be seen,Angela discovered that it was the _Illustrated London News_.

Perhaps the page which lay face down was the page of the photograph. Shehalf longed, half dreaded that a flutter of wind or a passing foot mightturn the paper over. What could the girl have meant by saying, "I hopethey won't be killed?"

Could Angela have read Theo Dene's mind the day at Santa Barbara, thispicture and paragraph would have been less mysterious to her. "I wonder ifMrs. May _knows about the Prince_?" Theo had asked herself.

"There's an English paper on the step," said Nick, following the directionof her eyes. "Does it make you homesick? If it does, I'll put in a claimto it. There may be time for you to glance it over before the right stageturns up."

The next thing she knew, she was swaying between earth and heaven, overheads that surged beneath her. Somehow, Nick had got that place on the boxseat, and he was beside her, resolutely helping Kate on to the high step.Suddenly, however, Timmy's covered basket flew open. Kate had been playingwith the cat, and had forgotten to fasten Tim in. Resenting the confusion,Timmy made a leap, Kate screamed and jumped down from the stage, carryingnot only the cat's basket, but a small dressing-bag of Angela's--all shehad brought, except a suit-case containing a dress or two for the journey.Some one else had, of course, scrambled into the coveted seat somiraculously vacated, and the stage, with its full complement ofpassengers, went swinging down the road, with Kate and Timmy and thedressing-bag left behind.

"Shall we try to stop?" Nick began; but Angela cut him short, her face nowas determined as those of the square-chinned girls who had passedtriumphantly on their way. "No!" she said. "I can't go through that again!Kate will have to come on later."

"There'll be another 'Sentinel' stage in about an hour, I guess,"announced the good-natured driver. "She'll be all right."

"She knows where we're going," said Angela. "She's a quick-witted girl,and I shan't worry. I mean to be happy in spite of everything--and_because_ of everything!"